


Fear and Caning in L.A. (or, How Harry Began to Question not only his Sexuality, but the Nature of Pleasure, Itself.)

by derangedfangirl



Category: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derangedfangirl/pseuds/derangedfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Kink Bang Bang fill: "Perry is a Secret Sub. Harry walks in on his private time with his Dom."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Harry is Enthralling (Prologue)

  
“I-mmph- I’m heading over to Harm’s.” Harry was attempting to pull his sweatshirt over his head and tie his shoes simultaneously.  It wasn't working.  
  
Perry watched him hop on one socked foot, slide on the polished hardwood, nearly fall and take out his fifteen-hundred dollar vase, stumble blindly toward a chair and drop into it.  He was convinced at this point that it was only by the grace of a truly benevolent god that Harry Lockheart was still breathing.  
  
He wondered, sometimes, how in the _actual hell_ the man managed to get up in the morning.  
  
“That’s fucking enthralling, Harry.”  
  
His deadpan, blessedly, remained effective. Harry just grunted, finally emerging red-faced, hair sticking out in odd directions. Perry rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “And you’ll be back when?”  
  
He grinned. “Miss me already?”  
  
“Yes.  Fuckhead. You’re the light of my goddamn life. When?” he returned crisply, studying his nails with vague disinterest. It was a lie, of course. Not the “light of his goddamn life” part, obviously, but Perry probably couldn’t be more interested, because it had been far, far too fucking long since he’d had the place to himself.  
  
Generally he’d kick Harry out once every couple of weeks to get his submissive itch scratched by a rather sensational Dom, but the past month had been unusually hectic. Neither Harry nor Perry had managed more than four hours of sleep nightly or regular meals, let alone a few hours to fuck a girlfriend/get the hell beaten out of them and pounded into oblivion, respectively. He shifted uncomfortably where he sat. Derek would undoubtedly take out his own displeasure at the delay on Perry’s ass, the vulnerable skin of his inner thighs, that spot just above his hip which positively sang with pain when struck. The insides of his wrists and soles of his feet if he was particularly annoyed. He shivered. Shit, just thinking about it got him half-hard.  
  
“Probably tomorrow,” Harry waggled his eyebrows, oblivious. “I’ll be out all night long. Harmony’s pissed at you, by the way; says you’d better pay her back for that wait. Her libido is nuts- what are you doing?” The man was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Perry shot him a look, one eyebrow quirked, corners of his mouth curving up. “Ew. Nevermind. Forget I asked. I’m gone.”  
  
Perry waited until he heard the tell-tale click of the lock sliding into place before picking up his phone.  
  
“It’s me. Place is empty.”  
  
A long pause. Excitement and heady apprehension coiled at the base of his spine, making his skin feel tight.  
  
“Ten minutes.” The deep, silken baritone sent a jolt straight to his groin. “Unlock the door this time.”  
  
The line went dead.


	2. Curiosity Traumatized the Harry

I’m always a little bit gobsmacked by Harmony’s… well, Harmony-ness when I first see her. I mean, even now when I’m not half deranged with blue balls, she’s just one of those people, you know? Makes whatever room she’s in seem special, because she’s just this… presence. There’s this sorta fleeting, spangly, glorious thing about her, like the sun just before all the winter ice melts and light’s just reflecting off of everything.  
Christ, that sounded stupid. Anyway. Speaking of spangly, that tiny little silver dress was nearly blinding me, which is sorta disappointing, because it couldn’t have covered her ass by more than an inch and a half. I blinked hard a couple of times. “You look great, honey. Are we going out?”

Harmony laughed, glancing around me like she was looking for something, which, in retrospect, she probably was. “What do you think, Harry?” She leaned up to kiss me, but it barely lasted long enough for me to start working my mojo before she pulled away, patting my pockets playfully, looking really excited about something. “So, where is it?”

This should’ve been my first clue. I started to make a dick joke, but narrowly refrained.

“Huh?”

“My present, asshole!” she wrinkled her nose adorably and gave me a little mock-glare, “I know you didn’t forget my birthday, Harry Lockhart.”

Well, fuck.

“…Shit. Harmony, I-” I stuffed my fist halfway into my mouth before anything idiotic could come out. It was temporarily successful.

Her face fell. “You forgot?”

See, the thing about Harmony you have to realize is, her puppy-dog eyes are fucking _incredible_. I swear to god, they’re like these evil, mind controlling pools of… something. I don’t know what the fuck eyeballs are made of. Point being, Harmony’s eyes make me do stupid things. Like pretend to have gotten her a present instead of just telling her I forgot, because I haven’t even really slept in a month and Perry’s a goddamn slave driver. I mean, Harmony’s pretty chill about that shit. She would’ve pouted for like five minutes to fuck with me, then let me off the hook with the warning that I’d better get her something _awesome_ for Christmas. But I couldn’t stand those goddamn eyes, so-

“Of course I didn’t forget your birthday,” I assured her a little too sincerely, hoping that awkward ‘I’m lying out of my ass’ giggle that Perry says sounds like a cat choking on a hairball wouldn’t give me away. She didn’t look convinced, so I kept talking, as per usual. “I’m just a dumbass- left it at Perry’s.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right.” Harmony turned, leaving the door ajar, crossing to a mirror to put the ‘finishing touches’ on her makeup. Which she didn’t need, obviously. I just sorta lingered uncomfortably on the doorstep, wondering if I could possibly play a box of condoms off as an appropriate birthday gift. Perry probably could, the smooth bastard.  
 _‘Wait- shit! Perry!’_ I thought, _‘Perry’s gay, gay men are like fucking catnip to straight girls. He can totally get me out of this.’_

Right now you’re probably thinking _‘Harry, you dumbfuck, Perry’s getting laid! Don’t cock-block a man who could kill you with a toothpick.’_

Well, fuck you. I was panicking, okay? Shit, how do you explain to your dream-girl that you forgot her birthday?

Either way, I probably looked constipated or something, because Harmony glanced over at me and snorted. “Gonna stand out there all night?”

The words were out of my mouth before I could stuff my fist in it again. All things considered, it wasn’t a bad excuse, “Well, I mean, I should go back to Perry’s- gotta get your present, which is still at Perry’s. I just left it on the counter -not that you needed to know that- but, anyway, I’ll be back in 20 minutes, ok?”

“Wha- Harry!”

I was in my car by the time she got back to the front door. My cell phone buzzed. I glanced at it as I stuffed the key in the ignition.

 **9:01 PM-** Harry, you dipshit, just get it later. It’s not a big deal.

‘it is a big deal!’ I typed back, one eye on the road and one hand on the wheel, which Perry yells at me for, but he’s an old woman, so whatever. ‘u hav 2 open ur present. back in 20.’

That should do it.

I should mention that I never even considered, you know, calling Perry to make sure I wouldn’t be interrupting anything, but you have to understand- and I know this sounds ridiculous- I don’t typically think of Perry as being gay, which, you know, considering the whole “Gay Perry” moniker, sounds pretty goddamn stupid, but it’s not even a homophobic thing. It’s just that Perry’s my friend, my boss, the guy who lets me live in his guest room. I don’t think of him as being particularly sexual, even though he’ll make those clever innuendos and pretend to flirt with me sometimes. He’s just… He’s Perry, okay? The idea of Mr. Perfectly-Controlled, Perfectly Unwrinkled Suits, Gets Pissy if One Single Hair is Left in the Shower doing something as dirty and uncontrolled as fucking was laughable, really. It would probably mess up his hair. And yeah, obviously he brings home guys sometimes, but he’s pretty considerate about it, and it’s not like I ever see them in the morning, just occasionally on my way to take a piss in the middle of the night.

Besides.

Even if he was getting laid, this is _Perry van Shrike_ we’re talking about. They’ll be in his bedroom with Perry’s expensive 100% silk duvet (so get your goddamn shoes off of it, shithead) safely stowed in a closet. Hell, he probably puts plastic down just to make sure nothing gets ruined by all of those messy sex juices.

Anyway, blah blah blah, I drove back to Perry’s. Nothing seemed particularly unusual as I walked up the driveway, and if it had been, I was far too fucking busy trying to think of something convincing to give Harmony as a Thoughtful Gift to be playing detective. Until I got to the door.

It was unlocked.

Not just unlocked, it wasn’t even closed all the way- a corner of the usually perfectly straight doormat was stuck between the door and the frame thing, propping it open just a little bit. With anyone else, this would be no cause for concern. Perry, however, is a paranoid son of a bitch who insists on having the door dead-bolted when we’re both home and it’s not even dark out yet. Who the fuck does that, seriously?

Anyway. Door unlocked, welcome mat all screwy.

Something wasn’t right, and worry felt like a lead weight in my stomach, and my brain started to helpfully present me with images of all of the bad things that could be inside; robbers, the mafioso I spit on last month, the target from our last case (meth-head Gary Oldman), aliens. I’m not used to being worried about Perry- he’s the resident badass. He’s the one who gets us out of tight situations, patches me up after I run my mouth to some bad guy with a baseball bat, that kind of thing. Whenever he’s in danger, I usually am too, and I know I can count on him to fix everything.

Something about that foreign feeling, of maybe being responsible for _Perry’s life_ or something, made me remember some of the shit Perry’s been trying to beat into my head for the last six months. Namely _“Don’t just rush into a situation, fuckhead. It’ll get you, and probably whoever you’re trying to rescue, killed Actually, just stop trying to save people, period. That’s usually when you get into trouble.”_

I didn’t say I remembered everything.

I pushed open the door silently, suddenly grateful for Perry’s fastidious insistence on well-oiled hinges. I crouched, keeping low and slow as I pushed inside, and carefully returned the door to its previous position, then paused, not even breathing, listening for something -anything- that would tell me that Perry was okay. Finally, I heard low voices, someone breathing heavily, the sharp crack of flesh being struck hard, a choked sounding moan- Perry’s moan. It sounds weird, but I swear to god, my vision went grey for a second before everything came into sharper focus than I’ve ever experienced in my life. I didn’t even think, just crept toward the living room, grabbing the gun Perry keeps hidden behind the potted plant near the stairs, and pressed my back tight to the wall, making sure to stay in shadow as I peeked out into the living room.

Perry was on his knees, hands secured behind his back with something I couldn’t see. His shirt looked as though it’d been ripped off, hanging askew and creeping down his forearms, exposing his chest and one shoulder. His back was straight, though, and I was momentarily awed by his… well, poise, I guess.  Perry's my rock, and even right now, somebody fucking threatening his life, his spine is ramrod straight, like a statue come suddenly to life.  As I watched, a drop of sweat fell from his jaw onto his neck, catching the light. A strip of duct tape covered his mouth, but his eyes were open, and glinted for just a second with something like defiance in response to something his captor said. A button shined somewhere near his knee, and a tall man circled him, half shrouded in shadow, tapping a wicked looking knife deliberately against his thigh. His expensive looking leather shoes squeaked minutely against the hardwood as he laughed a laugh that sounded like velvet-covered steel. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. He traced Perry’s throat with the flat of the knife, lingering almost lovingly on the corded tendons of his neck.

I couldn’t do anything when the fucker had a knife at his neck, lest he startle and slit his throat. I swallowed past the desire to look away.

“Beg.”

Perry jerked his head once. The meaning was clear. _‘No.’_

Suddenly I knew how Perry feels when I get mouthy to people with weapons.

The man stopped just behind him, and somehow, the stillness was even more unnerving than the weird knife-caressing thing. Abruptly, he raised one booted foot and struck Perry between the shoulder blades, just hard enough to send Perry to the floor, the air rushing out of his lungs, and then he was on top of him, feral, one leather-gloved hand threading through his hair and jerking his head back, before biting the shit out of Perry’s neck, which was really fucking bizarre, but I didn’t think about it because Perry’s eyes were squeezed shut in pain and a little whimper managed to extract itself from his throat, drowning out whatever he murmured in Perry’s ear.

The man stood again, brushing imagined dust from his suit and straightening his cuff-links.

“Get up.”

Perry wrestled himself to his knees, and the man seemed to nod in satisfaction, gently brushing his fingers across his cheek before ripping the tape off of his mouth in a single, stinging, stroke.

“Beg.” He repeated silkily, cupping the back of Perry’s head in his hand in a weird, nearly paternal fashion. I shuddered, eyes still on the knife. Perry’s lips moved silently, then-

“Pl-”

Holy shit.

Holy FUCKING shit.

Perry’s head was tilted up, and I couldn’t quite see his eyes, but his face was screwed up, and his shoulders looked tense enough to shatter.

“P-please. Please.” he finally ground out, voice breaking midway through. I swear to god he sounded 10 years younger, and holy fuck, Perry was actually begging, face relaxing as he repeated the word over and over, like a broken record.

Like he’d been broken.

That sound sent me over. Fuck caution. I raised the gun and pushed away from the wall, stepping fully into the light. “Drop the fucking knife, or I will blow your goddamn brain out.” I didn’t shout- just said it loudly enough to be heard, even though I barely heard myself with my own heartbeat sounding in my ears. I probably sounded pretty badass.  Perry’s jaw had dropped open, but I ignored him, focusing my attention instead on the man who’d been threatening him.

He didn’t move.

“Do I _look_ like I am _playing_ , motherfucker?!” The guy jumped, and I swear to god, he was scared shitless- Fucking coward probably couldn’t deal with somebody who wasn’t tied up and unprepared. Blind hatred surged up through me. The knife clattered to the floor. “Good.” I spat, “Now get the fuck out before I change my mind.”

The fucker ran faster than I’d ever seen someone in a designer suit move, including Perry, who can be pretty damn fast when he wants to. I shrugged, stuffed the gun in the waistband of my jeans, and followed, watching as he practically threw himself into a shiny black car before slamming the door shut and locking it securely. When I got back into the living room, Perry hadn’t moved. I mean, literally. At all. His mouth was still hanging open, even. “Perry?” I waved my hands in front of his face. “Hey, Perry. Wake the fuck up, you’re safe.”

He dropped his head to his chest like he couldn’t handle keeping it up anymore. I furrowed my brow, crouching next to him, because clearly something was seriously wrong here- “Perry. Are you okay? Did he- do I need to call an a-”

“No.”

“What?”

His head snapped back up, his gaze vaguely imperious, and he was very much Perry again, no vulnerability there at all. “Don’t speak. Go upstairs, get the key to the handcuffs from the drawer on the right side of the bed. The _right_ side, Harry, not the left,” he added, when I pointed to my left, because sometimes I forget which is which, shut up. “Touch anything else and I’ll kill you.”

Well, he was remarkably calm for a man who’d just been taken hostage inside his own house-

“Actually, revise that. I may just fucking kill you anyway, because _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”_

I winced and rubbed my ear, opening my mouth to demand why the hell he wasn’t showering me with thanks for saving his life, when he started ranting at the room in general. “Fuck. Derek’s probably never gonna come here again. Probably thinks I’ve got a jealous boyfriend or some shit. _Goddammit_ , Harry.” he rolled his neck, glaring up at me. “Do you have any idea how long it took to find someone who wasn’t nuts?”

I sputtered inarticulately. “Wha- but he was- I thought he was gonna- and he had a _knife,_ and the door was open, and what the fuck-” I stopped mid-sentence as Perry neatly rolled onto the balls of his feet, standing smoothly. This was when I noticed the rather sizable bulge in his pants, and not just that sort of half-hard crap you sometimes get from adrenaline after a fight, the guy had a pretty full blown rodney going from what I could see. “Oh my god.”

Perry rolled his eyes, but I didn’t even notice.

“Oh shit, Perry, I am SO fucking sorry- Jesus, I didn’t mean to-” my eyes drifted back down to his crotch for half a second before I wrangled them and forced them back on his face, and he had an eyebrow quirked, clearly wondering what was so intriguing about his cock, and I just kept babbling, “It was just, it’s Harmony’s- her birthday, and I-”

“Shitwit, I do not fucking _care_. Go get the keys.” he ordered, admirably controlled for a guy with a raging erection, no shirt, and his hands cuffed behind his back. I made a weird little flail-y gesture at his crotch.

“Oh my god. No shit, Sherlock. Finally got it?”

I nodded like a fucking bobble head and pulled the gun out of my pants, stared at it for a second,  
wondering if I should take it with me, before placing it carefully on the counter and.. well, out of Perry’s reach, just in case.

“Just, uh, hold tight, I’ll grab those… keys..”

Perry didn’t reply. I think he was too busy trying to hate me to death.


	3. In Which Harry Sticks his Foot in It.

I took the stairs two at a time, striding over to the door to Perry's room without even thinking about it... and then stopped dead.  I mean, I just stood there in the doorway like I was a fucking vampire waiting for an invitation or some shit.  But being in Perry’s bedroom is weird- I feel like I’m invading his privacy, which is sort of stupid, considering I’d just seen him- What?  Get his rocks off to being in pain?  To having someone control him?

I cut off that train of thought uncomfortably, shaking my head.  Had to get those stupid keys.  I crossed to the bedside table on the right side of his enormous bed.  Perry’s bedroom is amazing, too.  Have I mentioned that yet?  He’s got all this expensive shit that looks kinda simple and modern and utilitarian, but when you touch it, you realize that those are real goddamn silk sheets under your fingers, and the softest pillow you’ve ever seen, and sitting on that tiny couch thing is like being in ass heaven.  Perry is kind of a hidden sensualist, is what I’m saying.  I didn’t have time to enjoy it, though.  I was on a fucking mission.  

  
I bit my thumb.

  
What if he had… like… other things in here?  I mean, whatever, lube condoms, who gives a shit, but what about that… other stuff?    _‘You are being an idiot.  Open the goddamn drawer, get the keys, and go give the man the use of his arms back.'  
_  
My inner voice sounds disturbingly like Perry, now that I think about it.  I stuck my tongue out at it.  _‘Fine.’_ I pulled open the drawer quickly, one eye squeezed shut, and tried to ignore the neatly organized strips of leather and what looked like it might have been a switch, and _definitely_ did not pick up the ball gag to see how the fuck that rubber ball fits into your mouth, anyway, before grabbing the tiny silver key neatly placed in the far corner in its own little bin.  The man was a freak.  Who the fuck organizes their sex toys that goddamn carefully?  I exhaled explosively and nudged the drawer shut.  That wasn’t too terribly traumatizing.  As an afterthought, I grabbed one of the soft white t-shirts that Perry uses as pajamas sometimes to replace the ripped up button-down he was currently ‘wearing’, since he didn’t usually like walking around half-naked in front of me.  Maybe he thought I’d have some kind of hetero freakout?  Hell if I know.

Whatever- my tasks complete, I ran back down the stairs to the living room and moved behind Perry who wasn’t really looking at me.  I frowned.   “Hold on a second, lemme turn on a light-”  
“Why?” his voice sounded weird, almost nervous.  No, that wasn’t right.  Perry never sounded nervous.  It was probably something else.  Maybe his mouth still hurt from the duct tape or something.  His lips were kinda red and swollen.

I rolled my eyes.  “Because I can’t see the keyhole thingy.  Hold on a second.”

“Wait, Harry-”

I’d crossed over to the wall and flicked on the light switch before he could finish, and calmly returned to the bound blond who really does cut a dashing figure, standing middle of a room like that.  A muscle flexed in his jaw, and I ignored it in favor of moving behind him to unlock the cuffs.  

“Jesus Christ, _Perry_ …”  The words had escaped in a low hiss before I could stop them.  His back was covered in red welts, and the shirt was rent down the middle, which explained why it was hanging off of him like that.  His skin was broken just slightly in a couple of places, and he hissed when I brought a finger up to touch it, unthinking.  He flinched unconsciously, but not away, like most people would… no, he leaned _into_ the touch, into my hand, even though it had to be painful- or maybe because it was painful?  I inhaled sharply and jerked my away.  Perry cleared his throat, annoyed, like he could hear my thoughts.  Or maybe I accidentally said it out loud again.  “Just unlock the goddamn handcuffs, Harry.”

His voice was unusually rough.  Not mean rough or anything, but like… rough around the edges somehow, like he’d been screaming.  Maybe he had.  Shit if I knew.  Either way, I just did as he’d asked.  The cuffs fell into my hands with a click, and Perry flexed his shoulders gratefully, removed the remains of his pretty thoroughly ruined shirt, and sauntered into the kitchen, tossing them casually into the trash.  
“I’ll have to give him a talking to about that one…  Fucking up my wardrobe was _not_ part of the deal.” His voice sounded almost normal.

I just followed mutely, still staring at the angry red marks on his back, tongue rolling around in my mouth, searching for words but unable to find them.  We stood there in silence for a few minutes, until Perry finally slammed his hand down on the counter and rounded on me.  “Is there something you’d like to say, Harry, or are you going to stare like you’re in a goddamn zoo all night?” he growled, temper flashing.  I swallowed and shook my head.  I mean, Perry’s a pretty fucking intimidating guy, and he was standing there all shirtless and close and, I swear to god, this, like, erotic frustration was just coming off of him in fucking waves, and he was sort of leonine the way his rumpled hair was standing up and his teeth were just slightly bared.  You try to say something intelligent in the face of that.  

“I, um.  Brought you a shirt, thought you might be-” I gestured halfheartedly at his torso.  “Should I grab the first aid kit or something?  Don't wanna get some weird infection or something.”  I could be okay with this.  I wouldn’t be weird.  It was fine.

He blinked.  I don’t think he’d expected that I’d still be trying to take care of him or whatever it was I was doing.  Perry looked at me for a long moment, then pulled the shirt over his head, an odd mix of euphoria and discomfort flitting ever so briefly across his features as he tugged the material over the abused flesh of his back.  I wondered for a second if his body was striped that way, marked that way, all over.  Then I contemplated sticking my head in the oven, because _what the fuck was that thought, seriously_. 

The image of Perry, on his knees, begging, of Perry with one booted foot pressing his chest to the ground (and how much must that have hurt, what with how much that guy had clearly already been hitting him) rose to my mind unbidden, and I was suddenly furious in a way I couldn’t even explain.

“What the fuck, Perry?”

His eyes narrowed.  It was a warning sign.  I ignored it.  “What?”

“I mean, what the fuck?  How could you…” my tongue pressed against the inside of my teeth, trying to force the words to form into something less accusatory, but it wasn’t quite working.  “Christ, Perry, what kind of sick fuck gets off on hurting someone like that?” He started to say something, but I ignored him, too caught up in my little outburst to let him speak, “I mean, I know your dad used to beat on you and shit, mine did too, and I don’t wanna be an asshole, but is that why…?”

 No, bad question, didn’t want him to think I thought he was fucked up or something, although maybe he was because-

 “How could you let someone do that to you, Perry?  How could that be enjoyable-” I paused, switching gears, not really wanting to think about that, “And I mean, you’re fucking _bleeding_ , and he legitimately could’ve killed you if he wanted, did you see that goddamn _knife_?  I mean, shit, and I was really fucking worried- do you have any idea what it was like to walk into this house, thinking someone was trying to _kill_ you?  To watch someone make you…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence, my voice dying in my throat, panting like I’d just run a marathon.  Perry just watched me levelly, leaning against the counter with his weight ever so slightly favoring his right hip.

“Are you quite finished?”

I nodded.

“Good.  Get out of my house.”

“Perry, I-”

“Harry,” He doesn’t usually call me by my name.  At least not in seriousness.  I realized suddenly that his tightly reigned control, his refusal to let his posture sag despite the fact that he must be pretty goddamn sore, represented something really important.  I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  “Just.. Please.  Leave.  Go back to Harmony’s, I don’t care, I just need you to leave tonight.”

I nodded again, my throat feeling tight, because his voice had broken almost imperceptibly at the word ‘need’.  His eyes crinkled, and for a second, I almost thought he might break down, but he didn’t.  He never did.  I rubbed my face with my hands.  “Okay.  I’ll, um.  Be back tomorrow, okay?”

Perry nodded, following me to the front door to lock it behind me.  I rolled my eyes.  “Oh, now you’re concerned with your goddamn door..” I mumbled.  He flicked me in the back of the head.  

“Oh, and fuckhead?”

I turned around to look at him.

“Let’s get one thing straight- Derek didn’t ‘make me’ do anything.”  

You don’t argue with Perry when he has that look in his eyes, so I just inclined my head a little and walked out to my car.

My phone buzzed.  
 **  
9:45 PM-** Harry, where the hell are you?  
 **9:57 PM-** You’re starting to get me worried.  
 **9:59 PM-** If you got shot again, I’ll kill you.  
 **10:18 PM-** Perry’s not answering his phone either.  I’m coming over.

The last text had only been sent two minutes ago, so I punched in Harmony’s number, drumming my fingers on the dashboard impatiently.

 

“Thank god- what the fuck happened, Harry?  It’s been over an hour!” Harmony’s worried voice is another bit of her Axis of Evil-ly Making Harry do Stupid Things.  Puppy-Dog Eyes, Worried-Voice, and That One Thing she Does with her Tongue.   

“Uhm.  Everything’s fine, I think, but…” I leaned my head against the steering wheel.  Perry would be completely homicidal if he knew I was even thinking about telling Harmony something like this, but I needed advice, dammit.  “Fuck it.  I’ll tell you everything when I get there, okay?”


	4. In Which Harmony is a Puppet Master, Harry is an Imbecile, and Perry is The Goddamn Batman

“Oh my god.  You said _what?_ ”  Harmony was staring at me with her mouth hanging open, a little terrified giggle popping out of her mouth, “No way.  Harry, tell me you did not- you’re fucking with me.”  

I shrugged and shoved my spoon into the pint of ice cream she was balancing on her lap.  She’d changed out of the sparkly dress and into a ratty pair of sweatpants.  Weirdly, I liked that look better.  It made her seem real, like she was actually there and shit, instead of being that ethereal Dream Girl.  Anyway.  Back to Perry.  “What else was I supposed to say?  I mean, shit-” I waved the spoon around, accidentally splattering a little ice-cream on Harmony’s forehead.  She shrugged, wiped it off with her finger, and stuck the finger into her mouth without missing a beat.    
“And also, I now have like NO IDEA what to do-”

“Welp, that’s easy.  You fucking apologize, dumbass.”  She was giving me that look again.  The one that said ‘I sometimes think you’re too much of an idiot to actually exist in real life’.  

Whatever.  

“I already did!  I told him I was sorry for barging in at least 15 times with various combinations of the word-thingies.”  I paused, cocking my head.  “Do you think I should get him a card?”

“No- not that, you idiot- did you apologize for-” she cut herself off, rubbing her eyelids with more vigor than was probably healthy, “No, of course you didn’t.  You don’t even- Harry, please tell me you understand-” She looked up at me, realization dawning on her face, and started laughing in this kind of embarassed-for-me way.  “You don’t, do you.  Goddamn, Harry.  Do you even get what BDSM is?”

What guy is going to let on that his girlfriend knows more about kinky sex than he does?  Well, probably a smart one, but we’ve already established that I am not, so fuck off.  
   
“Of course I know what bgsm is, Harmony, shit.”

“BDSM.”

“Whatever!” No, my voice did NOT sound defensive, and don’t let her tell you otherwise.  I was perfectly composed.  “It’s where people, y’know,” I made a fluttery gesture with my hands to illustrate, “tie each other up and get off on getting the shit beaten out of them.  But I mean, why would _Perry_ be into that, of all people?  I mean, shit, don’t we get our asses beaten enough as it is?”  Granted, it was usually me receiving the brunt of the blows, but still.

Harmony heaved a sigh and fiddled with her spoon.  When she spoke again, her voice was serious.  “Harry, I’m not Perry, so I can’t tell you exactly what about it appeals to him, but, first of all, occasionally playing with pain and control as a part of consensual sex is _in no way analogous_ to being forcibly restrained by bad guys who want to kill you.  Further to the point, my god, you _idiot,_ what the everloving fuck would make you think that Perry’s pretty damn normal kink has any relation to his childhood trauma?!” She smacked my shoulder, clearly kinda worked up by this.  

“But- Harmony, you can see how I’d think that, right?  I mean-”  

“Look.  You like that thing I do with my tongue, right?”

I grinned.  I do like that thing she does with her tongue.  Axis of Harmony-Evil, remember?

“Does that have anything to do with some uncomfortable incident in your past?  Someone attacking your dick with a tongue-like object or something?”

I frowned.  Obviously, that was different- “No, but that’s just a blow-job.  That’s, like, normal and shit.  Liking pain isn’t normal, that’s why it’s called pain.  Why would he _want_ someone to hurt him?”  The last bit came out sounding like little boy lost, and I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands.

“Look, I don't have… fuck, it's not that I have some kind of stupid problem with it, he can do whatever he wants. I just want to understand-"

In my mind's eye, Perry was on his knees begging again, but this time I was looking at him from a different vantage point.

Well, fuck me.

Harmony was staring at me with an uncomfortably shrewd expression.  Uncomfortable for me, that is, because I didn’t particularly want to be privy to that thought myself, let alone have anyone else know it.  “So you’re saying it’s not… unhealthy… to want those things?” I blurted, before I could stop myself.  She pulled me over to her, tucking my head under her chin like I was a little kid or something.  

“God no.  Harry, people are different.  Not everyone’s into the same shit.  Perry probably likes it for the same reason as most people- playing with power dynamics is hot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, genius.  What’s the first word you think of when you look at Perry?”

“The goddamn Batman.”  She snorted, chest shaking with giggles, which bounced my head rather pleasantly against her boobs, so I kept going- “Badass Motherfucker.  Perry the Platypus, Con-” I frowned- she’d stopped laughing, giving me that look, like I’m an adorable puppy she won’t take her eyes off of in case I do a trick.  I hate that look.  I am not a puppy.  
   
“Go on…”

“Control freak.”

Harmony pushed me back up into a sitting position, crossing her legs and sitting indian-style so she could face me.  She tapped my nose and her own.  “Bingo.”

“Controlled?” That didn’t make any sense.  I mean, Perry’s Mr. Control, so why would he be into giving it up?

“Yeah, Harry.  He exerts this kind of…” she gazed at me thoughtfully, her voice taking on that quality it does when she’s talking seriously about a character.  “Brutal command over himself.  How often have you ever seen him lose his temper, for real?”

I thought about it for a minute.  

“One time I walked in on him in the gym, beating the shit out of a punching bag after the McLearny case.  I can’t think of anything else.”

“When you’re on a case and you get your ass handed to you… Perry always takes care of you afterward, right?  Patches you up?”  

“Well, yeah.  I mean, he’s a total dick about it, but he does it.”

“When was the last time you patched him up?”

I must’ve looked mutinous at that, or something, because she blew out a little annoyed breath.  

“Look, what I’m saying is, normally when you talk about Perry, it’s either about that fucking cartoon with the platypus, or you're complaining, or telling me about something cool he did.  You’re never _worried_ about him.  You know that feeling you said you had when you walked in, when you felt like you might be responsible for whether or not he died?"

I nodded.

“Perry feels like that every fucking time you’re on a case.”

Shit.  That… explained a lot, actually.

“I guess I just don’t usually worry about the goddamn batman.” I mumbled after a minute, a little shaken.  Harmony shrugged, smiling a little.  “Can you imagine, then, how cathartic- how incredibly hot it must be for him to give up that control for a little while?”

That image flashed in my head again, only this time, our positions were switched, and I was the one with his hand threaded in my hair, my throat being forcibly bared, with his voice rumbling in my ear- "Beg."

Jesus fucking Christ, I was not going to pop a boner thinking about my gay best friend while sitting on my girlfriend's couch. No fucking way.

I tried to casually arrange her decorative blanket over my lap.

“You alright over there, Space Cadet?” Her voice was teetering on the edge of laughter.  I shot her a glare.  “So, where’s my birthday present?  Or is it just the mental image of Perry being all submissive and shit?”

I smiled a little helplessly at her and shrugged, attempting to look as cute as physically possible.  “Yeah, shit, I forgot.  But, you know, that fucking case…”  She threw a pillow at me.  “Ass.  You’re lucky your little gay BDSM crisis is adorable, Harry.”

The excuse was weak, but I didn’t even care, I was just relieved that she wasn’t pissed-  
   
“Wait.  Back up.  Gay BDSM crisis?  What the fuck, Harmony?  I am worried about Perry, here, this is SO not about me.”

She just grinned.  “I’ll believe that when you stop molesting my blanket.  Now… Am I gonna get some birthday sex, or what?”

No arguing with that logic.

*-*-*-*-*

The second Harry pulled out of the driveway, I slid down the wall, head taking refuge in my hands. Some part of me was annoyed at my own melodrama.  The rest was incapable of giving even the tiniest fuck.

Shit, if Harry had walked in at any other time- balls deep in some twink’s ass, flogging a guy while wearing a gimp mask, (not that I ever wear gimp masks- let’s face it, they’re too bizarre looking to take seriously), dancing around in a goddamn tutu, anything, it’d be really fucking easy to brush off.  I’m a goddamn adult, I’ll do what I want with other consenting adults, deal with it, fuckhead.  

This, though…

Harry, hiding so effectively behind that wall, had seen me. 

Blessedly broken and on my knees at another man’s feet, begging for release, for his cock, for one more burning stroke from that whip-thin cane, for anything he’d give me.  He’d watched as I got lost in being used, of having a very simple purpose, of pain and pleasure indistinguishable from one another, in not having to think. 

Harry Lockhart had _seen_ me, and now, even such complete mortification and the vague assurance that he’d probably never trust me the same way again couldn’t keep me from getting rock-goddamn-hard at the thought of being watched like that.  

I glanced down at the erection pushing rather insistently against the zipper of my pants, and shrugged.  It had been a pretty fucking amazing session, up until Harry interrupted.  Might as well not waste it.  

Hauling myself to my feet with vigor, I stumbled toward my bathroom, still just a little bit tipsy from the scotch Derek had brought, stripping as I went.  It left a rather uncharacteristic trail of clothes, but I was too preoccupied  with adjusting the temperature of the water to care- just a little bit too hot to be entirely comfortable.  

The dull, stinging ache on my back blossomed into something deliciously agonizing underneath the hot spray, almost too much.  A little groan- I was so hard it was almost painful, but the wait is half the fun- I braced one arm against the cool tile and brushed my hand lightly over the head, nearly shuddering at how much I wanted this, how much I needed to come already, having barely even made contact.  My eyes drifted closed.  I began a slow, even rhythm, not wanting to end this just yet, luxuriating on that knife’s edge between pleasure and pain.  A sound that might’ve been a whimper echoed around the bathroom-

A hand in my hair, baring my throat as his weight settled on my back, and he was so insanely hard, pressed up against my ass, one leg pushing between mine, that husky voice in my ear _‘You’re going to break for me, Perry._ ’

His mouth on my neck, marking me with a bruise that won’t fade for a week-

I fought hard to fill my lungs, so fucking close I could almost taste it-

Suddenly the hand covering my mouth only has four and a half fingers, and they smell slightly of cigarettes and Harry's spicy soap-   

I went temporarily blind and deaf.  Everything was electric, I couldn’t even breathe, and I’d never experienced anything that fucking intense in my goddamn life.  

The cool tile was heaven on my back. I watched my chest heave for a moment, then slid bonelessly down to the floor.

And then I started to giggle. 

 _‘My life is a bad movie.  Fuck._ ’

*-*-*-*-*

Harmony takes a sick sort of pleasure in springing things on me in bed, and that night was no different.  Occasionally they won’t work, and the results are hilarious, like that one time she decided to try putting honey on me, and I smelled like a beehive for a week and kept finding sticky clumps of chest hair in the shower because it wouldn’t fucking wash off, or when she tried blowing me while I was on the phone with my mother.  

This time, though, she’s laying beside me, her hand wrapped around my prick because she knows I always come a little too quickly on the first round if it’s been a while, so we take turns at first because I’m usually ready to go again by the time she finishes, and that’s maybe too much information, but whatever.  She was jerking me off, is what I’m trying to say, here.  

Anyway, I was doing that little gasping thing that I always do when I’m right on the edge but not quite there yet, when (and I swear to GOD I am not making this up) Harmony leans up and grabs my hair with her other hand, tightening her grip on me just enough to make me groan.    
“God, you look good like this, Harry.” she murmurs, sounding darkly amused in this disturbingly sexy way, “Lips all swollen, eyes glazed… Wish Perry could see you like this.”

I choked.  And came really fucking hard, shouting something that probably wasn’t even human, let alone intelligible English.  

When the world came back into focus, Harmony was grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat.

“Best birthday ever.”


	5. In Which Perry is Dense

The next morning, I tugged on my clothes while Harmony languished on the bed, grinning, looking like the cat who ate the stupid canary, despite being half asleep.  I glared, which, since it's Harmony, seemed to inspire a fit of snorting little giggles rather than fear.

“What are you so damn happy about?”

“You.  And Perry.  I’m fine with it, by the way.  I’d just better get pictures.”

I rolled my eyes.  So what, the idea of Perry watching Harmony jerk me off had practically made my dick explode; it’s not like that actually _meant_ anything.  

“I’m not gaaay…” I reminded her in a little sing-song that actually probably sounded incredibly gay and therefore undermined my point.

“No shit, Sherlock, you’re just a little... bi around the edges.  Whatever, labels aren’t important; you want to fuck Perry.”

I made a little grunting noise, partly because I’m a bad liar, and partly because she was stretching out all catlike and being distracting.  I reached over and pinched her nipple, just because I could.

“Gonna go beg for forgiveness?” the word ‘beg’ was pronounced a little too deliberately.  I ignored it.  

“Yeah.  Call you later.”

Walking into Perry’s house was awkward beyond all belief.  I mean, seriously, how do you casually enter someone's house after catching them in Flagrante Delicto, then running off their lover because you thought said lover was attempting to murder them?  Plus, the welcome mat still wasn’t straight, which really _bothered_ me, for some reason.  Maybe Perry’s psychosis was rubbing off on me.  That’s a scary thought.  Anyway, I unlocked the front door and pushed it open, going over my little apology script in my head, trying to condense it into something that I’d be able to get out before Perry took a swing at me. 

Maybe if I kept the kitchen table between us… 

No, he’d probably just lunge over it and try to strangle me like a fucking lion or something.  Like, have you ever seen Mean Girls?  That Lindsey Lohan movie from before she was all coked out, when she was still hot and stuff?  You know that scene where the chick jumps over the table and tackles the other chick?  Just like that.  

Anyway.

I sorta crept into the kitchen, all nervous and shit, waiting for Perry to yell at me, but he was just sitting there at the table, the very essence of calm, sipping his coffee and reading his paper.  He didn’t even look up.  So I lowered myself very carefully into the chair across from him, ready to bolt if he made any sudden movements.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?  Just knock next time, idiot.” his tone was mild, and he didn’t even glance up from his paper.  I wondered what could possibly be holding his attention, as newspapers are boring.  Particularly the finance section.  _‘Focus, dipshit.’_  
   
Oh.  Right.  Apologizing.

“That’s not- I mean, I’m sorry for what I said, you know… after?”

"The part where you asked if I was getting off on remembered childhood abuse, or the part where you insinuated I'm a pervert?" he returned crisply, full lips turning up into a sardonic smile.

Perry does have a great mouth.  I mean, you saw the movie, you obviously know that, but _seriously_.  He’s just got these perfectly proportioned, pillowy lips with a cupid’s bow or whatever it’s called, and there’s this place in the middle where they part just a little instead of the upper lip dipping down like most peoples’, and I find it really distracting for some reason.

“Uhm.  Both.  I’m really sorry, Perry.  Shit, that was such a stupid- I don't think there's anything wrong with you. I was just really scared when I saw that guy... I thought he was going to kill you.  I don't ever wanna see you hurt, man."

Perry’s grey-blue eyes flicked up at me for a second before returning to his paper, but they’d stopped following the text.  If it were anyone else, I could swear he was blushing.  He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, well, if he had been a Bad Guy, you would’ve saved the day.” his voice was gruff, but I didn’t buy it.  My grin threatened to split my face.  
   
“I was pretty good, huh?”

“Fucking great, actually.”

I had to restrain myself to keep from snoopy dancing.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that- say again?” I asked innocently.

“I said, ‘fuckin-’ Oh shut up.  Idiot.”  He pushed a second cup of coffee over to me.  I took a sip- black, 5 sugars, just the way I like it.  I rolled it around in my mouth, enjoying the sweetness.  Something in my belly felt a little warm at the mental image of him preparing a second mug, trusting that I’d show up.  We sat there in silence for a couple of seconds, but it wasn’t actually that uncomfortable.

“Perry?”  

Moment of truth.  I stared resolutely into my coffee.

“Um.  Does it actually feel good?  Getting hurt like that?”  Christ, my voice sounded so small.  I winced.  I could feel Perry’s gaze on me, searching.  Maybe wondering if I was serious?

“…Why?” he asked, sounding cautious.

The words exploded out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them.  "Because, I mean, you're not fucked up and you like it and I mean it just seems like- and Harmony said it's a really common fantasy, and-"

 _“HARMONY?!”_

Shit shit shit, I’d forgotten that he probably wouldn’t want anyone else to know, but since he probably already hated me at this point, I might as well just tell him the rest, I mean, it was halfway out anyway, so I just rested my head on the table, shielded by my arms, and let my mouth do whatever the fuck it wanted since Perry was gonna murder me regardless-

“Andthinkingaboutitlatergotmeoff.”

Silence.  

“…Harry…”  Perry sounded completely gobsmacked, which I figured he deserved, since I’d been feeling that way since last night.  I peeked up at him over my arms.

“Did you just say you-”  He paused, tonguing the inside of his mouth, which is really distracting as I’ve already mentioned, “Did you just say you got off thinking about it later?”

I moaned into my arms, laughing a teeny bit hysterically and gave a nearly imperceptible nod, wondering if I could possibly will myself to evaporate.  “…Yeh.”

Perry didn’t say anything, he just stared into his own coffee cup, clever fingers circling the rim slowly.  Later, he told me that he’d been struck by the thought that it was the same color as my eyes, and also, he’d kill me if I ever told anyone that.  (Oops.)

“You mean,” he intoned carefully, “you got off on the idea of tying up Harmony?”

I shook my head, still refusing to let him see my face, which was probably turning purple.  He rolled his eyes, annoyed.  

“So you blew your load to the idea of your girlfriend tying you up.  Wow.  That's a fucking crisis; how _will_ your masculinity survive the blow.” he surmised, sounding supremely irritated by my perceived melodrama.  Perry’s really fucking dumb sometimes.

“Nooooo….” I drew the word out meaningfully.  The douche was going to make me say it, I could tell.  Probably just out of spite, too.

“Then what the fuck, Harry?” The poor guy sounded genuinely confused, and also pissed off, because Perry HATES being confused.  It makes him question his manhood or something.  I finally raised my head, looking him square in the face, annoyed because, seriously, the man calls himself a private detective?

“You, dumbass!”   

“Huh?” Perry never sounds inarticulate like that.  I was momentarily proud.  My mouth was moving without me again before I could appreciate it, though.

“You!  I jerked off to the idea of _you_ tying me up, _your_ mouth around my dick, _you_ … forcing me to beg the way that guy was doing- shit, I thought about the way you looked all undone and shit- Fuck.  And you say I'm goddamn dense."  I was panting, again. 

Maybe I should cut down on the cigarettes, since I clearly can’t get through one measly diatribe without sounding like I just run a fucking marathon.  I chanced a glance up at Perry.

His mouth was hanging open, giving me a lovely view of his back molars, which really wasn't the most promising response in the world.  “You’ve got something in your teeth, by the way.  I’ll just go.”  I mumbled. 

He probably just wasn’t attracted to me.  I mean, just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he’s attracted to every Tom, Dick, or Harry (heh, get it?) he sees, and I didn’t even come close to his usual type.

Perry blinked mutely.  I stood, shrugging my jacket back on, prepared to go nurse the shattered remnants of my pride back at Harmony’s.

“Wait!  Harry, hold on-”

“No, Perry, it’s fine, you don’t have to explain anything- it was just a stupid little- don’t even worry, I’ll just go back to Har-” 

Perry crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around bodily.  I was still sputtering random nonsense, but Perry had this weird look on his face, and was _really_ close, like, close enough that I could smell his aftershave, which, by the way, is this kinda cool minty smell, which really fits with Perry when you think about it, but anyway, that weird look melted into a more familiar expression of annoyance, and then he just grabbed the back of my neck with one hand, the other snaking around my waist, and kissed the _shit_ out of me.  

And this… This was nothing like that bullshit he sprang on me in the alley, where his lips were like a dead fish against mine or something, not even a real kiss so much as an uncomfortable mashing together of faces; this was warm and right and _Perry_ , who has a fucking incredible mouth.  His teeth grazed across my lower lip, just a little bit of roughness which he proceeded to sooth with that expert tongue, and my arms were around his neck, and I was standing just a little bit on my toes because Perry is fucking big.  I didn’t see fireworks or any of that bullshit, but I was pretty sure that either my heart was attempting to flee from my chest, or I was having a heart attack.    
Too soon, he broke away.   

Gratifyingly, he was panting, too, and he’s Mr. Workout, so maybe it’s not so much the cigarettes after all.

“Jesus fuck, Harry, do you _ever_ shut up?” He was trying to sound irritated, but his voice was this fantastic smooth purr and his hands were still curled around me possessively, so I just hummed a little in the back of my throat and grinned like an idiot.  His chest was flushed where it was exposed by the v-neck of that soft, white t-shirt.  I tried not to stare.  He just snickered and tucked in the tag sticking out of the back of my shirt.  

“Harry…” His voice was serious, but his eyes were warm, “You asked me if it could ever feel good.”  

I nodded, too distracted by the delicious sheen on his lower lip left by his tongue darting out to moisten it-

“Do you want me to show you?”

Perry... everything about Perry just fucking _oozed_ sex and promise and this quiet raw power that made me want things I’d never even thought of before that moment.

I swallowed, throat dry, and looked into his eyes.  _‘Do you trust me?’_

I nodded.


	6. In Which Perry is a Sadistic Fuck, and Harry Whimpers a Lot

  
Perry’s mouth was on mine again, and he tasted like coffee, which is a lot nicer than it sounds, by the way, and this kiss… Jesus Christ, the first one was chaste by comparison.    
His hand drifted up the back of my neck to tangle in my hair as he ran his tongue across my lips, gentle but not sweet, just enough to not be enough at all, which _always_ drives me batshit insane, because, as you might’ve noticed, I’m an impatient sonovabitch.  

Naturally, I decided to return the favor.  Except it was more me slipping him the tongue for real, because I really just wanted to _taste_ him, dammit, which might sound bizarre, but I can’t think of a better way to describe it.  Perry chuckled against my mouth, apparently amused by my bid for dominance- the hand tangled in my hair tightened and he pulled, hard, little pinpricks of pain along my scalp, until my head was tilted back and my throat vulnerable- bared for him.  He grinned, sharklike.  

“Eager, aren’t you?” he rumbled, voice pitched extra low, and my skin prickled with a sudden flush of arousal, because, _holy shit,_ Perry is clearly a talker, and that was, like, the hottest realization **ever.**   Coherent thought exited stage left as he began working his way down my neck, soft lips bringing the roughness of his teeth into sharp relief, teasing, just these little brushes and nibbles.  I- well, I’m man enough to admit it- I whimpered, grabbing for any part of him I could reach, desperate to touch,  and he pulled me tighter against him until we were flush together and I could feel all of him pressed up against me, all hard lines and angles, broad and strong- he was half-hard, already (not that I wasn’t) and I ground my hips against his experimentally.  Perry fucking _purred_ , I swear to god, and tugged harder at my hair in response, sucking and biting at the tender junction between my neck and shoulder, and it was almost brutal, but holy shit if it didn’t make me throb with unadulterated want.  

I rolled my hips against him again, searching for friction, but he’d pulled back, the epitome of self restraint- You'd never know we’d been doing anything more interesting than playing monopoly were it not for the distinct bulge in his pants and the deep flush working its way down his chest.  He held us like that for a second, our bodies half an inch apart but his hands still all over me, just looking down into my face, eyes heavily lidded and dark.  He licked his lips.  They were slightly swollen, darker than normal.  I imagined them stretched around my cock.  I moaned.  He still hadn’t kissed me properly, the goddamn blue-balling bastard.

“Fucking Christ, Perry, _kiss me._ ”

A lazy smile worked its way across his face.  “Impertinent,” he chastised lowly, but the amusement, the promise in his voice and that hand still firmly coiled in my hair, made my mouth go dry.  “We’re going to have to fix that.”

I just half-glared up at him, straining to feel his body against mine again, an annoyed little growl erupting from my throat as he held me immobile, because Perry’s a strong motherfucker and apparently has no heart.  His teeth flashed in something that might’ve been a leer, and then, suddenly, his full weight was pressing into me, pinning my back against a wall that was not there just a second ago, and somehow my wrists were above my head, restrained by one sinewy forearm.  

“Kiss you?  I thought that’s what I was doing…” He murmured, clearly finding himself hilarious, and traced his index finger across my lower lip.  Smug, self satisfied bastard.

I guided it into my mouth in response, swirling my tongue around the tip leisurely, arching my eyebrow in a spot of friendly challenge, wondering how he’d react to my cheeky little simulation of blowing him.  Perry’s jaw dropped, those unbelievable lips parting, devious smirk forgotten as his breath hitched, and I swear to god I felt him twitch against my thigh.  Or maybe I was imagining things, because that would probably be impossible.  Perry may be talented, but he doesn’t have a fucking prehensile dick.    
I wasn’t, however, imagining the fairly impressive Johnson straining the fabric of his pants, and for the first time, I felt a little niggle of trepidation- It’s not like I’ve never had something up my ass or whatever, what with Harmony being intent on finding my prostate and all, but from what I could feel… Perry was fucking large and in charge.   What if it didn’t fit?

I didn’t have time to consider it further, though, because _finally_ Perry’s fantastically talented mouth was all over mine again, only this time, his tongue was moving rhythmically, mimicking sex, fucking my mouth, and there wasn’t even a question this time, I whimpered, his low groan rumbling against me when I arched up into him again, still trying my damnedest to find some fucking relief, still forcibly halted just short of my goal.  The hand that wasn’t occupied with pinning my arms to the wall moved down, skimming down my neck and chest, brushing across a nipple which sent a goddamn electric current straight to my dick, except in a sexy way, not in a “tortured by a homophobe named Aurelio" way.

I could feel the corners of his mouth curl up in a smile against mine at that, but his hand kept moving, inching lower, pushing up my shirt and coming to rest just atop my belt, fingers leaving a trail like fire as he toyed with the hair just below my belly button, then he fucking finally ground our hips together, allowing me the friction I needed for just half a beat, and I moaned something unintelligible that might’ve been “ _ohgodyouasshole,justfucking-ngh_ ”, but I can’t be totally positive.  

I’m not sure when he let go of my hands, but he must have, because they were now steel vices around my hips, forcing them still. 

“Hands at your sides, chief.  Don’t move them.”  It was an unmistakable command, but his voice was dark, rich honey; smooth and deep, and the man was like fucking magnetic or something, and it had to be the first order Perry’s ever given me that I followed without bitching.  His lips dipped down to brush over mine.

We breathed the same air.  My head spun.  

Those clever fingers of his moved to the front of my jeans, ghosting their way _around_ my poor, throbbing hard-on, never quite making contact, just agonizingly light friction on too-thick fabric, and I bucked toward his hand, hard, but they returned to my hips, slamming me back against the wall _harder_.  Abruptly, I realized that my own hands were clutching at his huge shoulders, hard enough to bruise.

“What is it about _‘don’t move’_ that you don’t understand, Harry?” He drawled, sounding almost like his normal self, only I could tell by that pleased fucking glint in his eye that he’d gotten the exact reaction he wanted, which involved driving me out of my goddamn mind with want.  

Perry’s a sadistic fuck.  

“Hands to the wall.”

I managed to think through my lust-fog for a moment, relishing the flex of muscle under my fingertips, just long enough to meet his inky eyes with what I feel was a fairly ballsy challenge.  “Or what?”

Perry just grinned, sharp and dark and feral and leaned forward, lips brushing my ear.  “Or I’ll stop.”

Yeah, that wasn’t going to fucking happen.  

My hands slammed back against the wall.  He huffed a little laugh against my ear.  “Good-” he paused, sliding my belt out of the loops with a practiced crack of leather that sent a shiver down my spine.  His fingers popped the first button on my jeans open and hovered over the second, “ _Very_ good.” The second button gave, just a miniature release that hinted at everything, and I really fucking wanted to tangle my hands in his hair, shuck my jeans, spin us around and take control, shove my cock down his throat, _anything_ to ease this hot, tight coil of arousal in my belly, so intense it was almost painful.  Seriously, if Perry didn’t touch me soon, I thought I might fucking snap.  The third button opened, and the last followed suit on its own, but Perry _still wasn’t fucking touching me._

“P-please- fuck, Perry, I need…” One of his hands came up to wrap around my throat, not applying any pressure or anything, just resting there, heavy and hot.  

“What do you need?” his voice burned, and I flushed even more, another jolting wave of straight up _want_ hitting me like a fucking tsunami-

“Your- Jesus, I- I need your hands on me, please, _please_ , just touch me-” the babbling was cut off by a prolonged, full body shudder and I moaned as his hand slid under the waistband of my boxers, wrapping around me, and I thought the top of my skull might fly the fuck off then and there, because he was finally stroking me, slow and rhythmic- deliberately too slow, grip too loose.  Another rush of heat, his lips on mine, sucking gently on my tongue, mimicking my earlier show with his finger, and goddammit, this slow and gentle bullshit wasn’t enough and he _knew_ it.  The tip of his thumb slid across the head of my dick, slick with pre-come.  My hands clenched spasmodically, but didn’t stray from the wall, and my lungs were about to burst with anticipation, or maybe that was lack of air because I seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, so I gasped, blood buzzing in my ears, head falling back with a muffled thunk against the wall.  Perry was murmuring nonsense like he was taming a spooked horse.  

“You alright there, chief?  Your eyes rolled back in your head for a second there…”  He didn’t sound concerned, particularly, more turned on and amused and a little bit sly.  He stepped back, and I whined unabashedly at the loss of contact.  He glanced down at my hands.  My knuckles were white- I flexed them- little moon-shaped crescents dotting my palms from where my nails had bitten in.  Perry mouth formed a little ‘o’ of surprise, tip of his tongue kissing his teeth, and he was looking at me like I was a fucking gazelle, and he was a starving lion.  He grabbed the hand I’d been examining, pressed a long kiss over the tiny lacerations, tongue darting out quickly to taste-

Okay, that really shouldn’t have been so fucking hot.

“You didn’t move your hands.” he pointed out, one of his own drifting down unconsciously to palm his own still clothed and sorely neglected erection, and normally I’d make a sarcastic comment about stating the obvious, but I was too buzzed on adrenaline and lust to do anything but nod, and plus, that little lapse of his generally unfaltering control was fucking intoxicating.  I wanted more-

“Impressive.” he stepped back toward me, pressing against me, hand returning to where I needed it most- “Positive reinforcement.” it was nearly subvocal, and this time his stroke was firm and perfect.  I sagged against him, knees nearly giving out.  

“Is this enough for you, Harry?  Just my hand, jerking you off?” a low chuckle, a formless cry from me-  “ _Goddamn_ , if this is what you’re like now, I can’t even imagine the sounds you’re going to make with my mouth around your cock.”  I bucked, not even trying to stifle my response this time, because the image of him on his knees, blowing me, those perfect lips taking me in was too fucking much to handle- “Oh fuck, oh god, I- _pleasepleaseplease_ \- I fucking- _that,_ I need your mouth, Perry, I can’t-”

He didn’t say anything, just picked up my belt from where he’d dropped it.  “Turn around.”

I hesitated.  Perry smirked, running the smooth leather lazily across his palm.  “It wasn’t a question.” he reminded, voice taking on a steel edge, and heady apprehension thrummed beneath hypersensitive skin, mingling with arousal, because this side of Perry was as unpredictable as it was tightly controlled.  He stepped up behind me, nuzzling my neck, and he was hard as hell and pressed against my ass, the hand in possession of my belt wrapping around my torso, making sure the thin strip of leather remained in my line of vision so as to torture me with vague images of what he might be planning to use it for.  
   
“Relax, Lockhart…” he purred, thrusting slightly against me, “I won’t use the belt to stripe your ass until at _least_ the second date.”  

My jaw dropped, and for the first time in my life, I was absolutely fucking speechless.  

He wrapped the belt around my wrists, tight, doing some boy-scout bullshit to ensure it would stay in place, and I amused myself for a moment with the mental image of Perry bitching about the polyester uniforms, but then that thought was blown completely out of my head because he was turning me back around, and the rough feel of the fabric of his pants against my exposed dick was almost too much-

Then he’d slid down to kneel in front of me, impossibly smooth, tugging my pants and boxers to my ankles in one quick stroke, and Perry may have been on his knees, but there was no question who was in charge here, and it _certainly_ wasn’t the guy with his belt wrapped around his wrists.  He didn’t waste any fucking time, either; I barely had time to fortify myself to keep from blowing my load the minute he touched me before he’d licked me from root to tip, tongue flicking against that crazy sensitive spot on the underside of the head, and I swear to god my fucking toes curled, my mouth opening in a yell never vocalized, because it was just too much fucking sensation-

Perry’s lips were stretched around my cock, and it was even fucking _better_ than I imagined, because I couldn’t have imagined the heat in his eyes, locked on mine, demanding that I watch every second of this, or the little noises he would make, or how debauched he’d look, normally meticulously styled hair messy and sticking to his forehead, face flushed, lips swollen, sucking me off-

“ _Shit_ \- Perr- you’ve gotta stop, I’m gonna-”  

He didn’t miss a beat- he sped up, tongue doing things I’d never fucking felt before, and I couldn’t even begin to control it, I was coming so hard that my ears popped and my thighs cramped up, but I didn’t even notice because how could I notice anything when my head was exploding so exquisitely?  

Somewhere over the din of my own heartbeat and the brush of my t-shirt on heated, sensitive skin, I felt Perry stand.  I opened my eyes just in time to watch him lick a finger clean of my come, which made me groan again and immediately file the image in my mental spank bank for future solo-sessions, because _holy fuck_ that was probably one of the hottest things I’d ever seen in real life.

 He pulled me toward him, and I let him take my weight gratefully, enjoying the… well, the intimacy of the action, as he tugged the belt loose from my wrists and let it fall to the floor.

  I smiled, stupid(er) with satiation, as he tipped my chin up to catch my lips in a deep kiss.  “Sorry I, uh, finished so fast.” I mumbled thickly, “doesn’t usually happen like that…”

Perry’s chest shook.  “You think that coming means it’s over?” he growled in that voice that apparently makes me turn to jelly, and, unbelievably, I felt my cock twitch in interest as he shook his head, laughing lowly- “Not by a long shot.”

  



	7. In Which Harry Learns why One Should Never Challenge Perry at Sex

  
When Perry said that me coming didn't mean it was over, I naturally assumed he meant since _he_ hadn't gotten off yet, I was fully expected to rectify that situation.  I mean, Perry van Shrike is hardly the type of gay who gets his rocks off blowing straight dudes and then gracefully retiring to the bathroom to rub one out into his fancy hand-towels.  Not that I am, anymore- straight I mean.  And even if I was, I mean, come on, I’d at least have the common courtesy to offer a hand job, _Jesus._

But leaving aside my nebulous sexual orientation for a moment, I was used to pleasuring someone after I'd already gotten mine, if not with this particular combination of dangly bits.  So I leaned up and pressed a long kiss to his mouth, flicking my tongue against his, feeling a little lightheaded at how fucking surreal it was to be making out with Perry, tasting myself on his lips, and began loosening the tie of his gray silk paisley pajama pants.  (Which, by the way, are totally reminiscent of gay Hugh Hefner, but whatever.)  

What I hadn’t counted on was how goddamn _patient_ Perry can be when he has finally gotten something he wants.  See, Perry had clearly decided how he would fuck me, when I would come, when he would come, how many times, and possibly in what positions- and by god, that’s how it would fucking happen. 

Stubborn SOB. 

But, shit, I’m getting ahead of myself.   What I’m trying to get across here is, victorious Perry is like a particularly evil cat playing with a mouse it’s caught, (or a lion with a gazelle, to repeat an earlier metaphor.  Wait.  Simile?  Fuck it.) just without all the dismemberment.  

He swatted my hands away, even as the steady pattern of his breathing stuttered when my hand “accidentally slipped” to palm the (rock-hard, I mean, seriously, that man has the self control of a fucking nun) erection through his pants.  

“Who said you get to touch?” he murmured, a wicked cast to those lips, one hand returning to rest significantly on the back of my neck.  “No… I don’t think you’ve earned that, yet.”

That sent a jolt straight to my prick, and I didn’t even know why.  And let me just point out, I am not 19 years old anymore.  There was no way little Harry was stirring again this soon after an orgasm, except that he totally was.  Everything about sex with Perry was fucking baffling, so far- not that I was complaining.  I tugged my boxers back up around my hips and tried to step out of my pants without taking off my shoes, which, sure, almost left me sprawled on my ass, but I got it sorted eventually.  Perry snorted inelegantly, watching me battle my clothing with one eyebrow quirked, but reached out a hand to steady me nonetheless, tucking my discarded pants and belt under one arm.  

“Dumbass…” he rolled his eyes affectionately, pulling me in for another kiss, nearly bruising but so, so good, then turned and strolled casually toward the stairs.  I gaped at his retreating back for a second, feeling the loss of physical contact with crushing intensity, until he paused, foot resting on the first step, and cast a glance over his shoulder that could be most accurately described as “haughty”, had it been less incredibly fucking masculine.  And sexy.  “Coming?”

And then the fucker turned around and kept walking, never once doubting that I would follow.  He is one cocky asshole, tell you what.  

Of course I fucking followed him.

Have you ever noticed how great a view you get, following a person up a flight of stairs?  That t-shirt he was wearing, the same one I’d brought him the night before, was stretched just tight enough across his broad shoulders to show off the flex of his back, those smooth pants catching the light in a dull sheen, highlighting a pretty fucking _fantastic_ ass- I took the steps a few at a time, bounding up behind him, and, unable to resist, grabbed it.  I needed to know if it was as firm as it looked.  You know.  For science.   

Perry snickered.  “Single gayest thing you’ve ever done.”

His approximation of my voice is disturbingly accurate

I gasped, pretending to swoon, still a little bit silly on endorphins and various post-orgasm happy chemicals.  “You fiend!” I trilled in an annoying falsetto, “One hummer from you and I’m goddamn Liberace!”

Perry paused at the door to the master bedroom and leaned against the wall for a second, staring blithely at his nails, amusement quirking his lips.  “Well, you still have one last chance to escape with your heterosexuality relatively intact, chief.”  There was something a little guarded in his eyes when he glanced up, despite the smile.  I grinned. 

“Nah.  Shit’s over-rated, anyway.”  

This was punctuated by a peck to the side of his jaw and a quick, groping exploration of his fine, fine tuchus with each hand, which triggered a growl from him and a giggle like a teenage girl on ecstasy from me as I dodged, ran, and proceeded to trip on a corner of his ostentatious oriental rug.  Perry, ever the opportunist, used this brief stumble to tackle me onto the bed like a fucking linebacker jungle-cat, hold me down, and ravage my poor, defenseless mouth until I stopped half-heartedly trying to escape.  I glanced at Perry’s hands, pinning my wrists to the mattress.  

“This seems familiar…” The words came out in a panting little chuckle, the depth of my voice surprising even me for a second.

Perry’s eyes were all shiny and happy, and I couldn’t help the little contented balloon that inflated in my stomach at the sight of a full blown smile on his face.  The man didn’t laugh nearly enough- really laugh, I mean.  I’d commit hari kari before letting him hear me say it, but Perry has this smile that splits his whole face, crinkles his eyes up, and generally makes him look like a kid at Christmas.  I squirmed underneath him, beginning to react to his proximity, the warm breath against my cheek, to the weight of him against me.  My thigh slipped between his legs to press firmly against his cock, and Perry’s eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenching as he tried to bite back a guttural moan, hips jerking minutely, almost erratically, almost like he couldn’t stop them.  

I flushed.  _I_ was doing that, _I_ was the one testing his unwavering control.  What a goddamn rush.  Not that I was unaffected- the passably hard state of my cock made that plenty obvious, but a smug little smile twitched at the corners of my mouth, regardless.  I made Perry crazy.  _Fuck yeah_.  

My internal celebration did not go unnoticed.  His eyes narrowed, clearly taking it as a challenge, and he grinned his shark-grin again, all teeth and predation.  I swallowed.  One does not challenge Gay Perry at sex.  One will lose.  One might even lose all cognitive faculties for a week.

He was a flurry of calculated motion, divesting me of my shirt and boxers with incredible economy of movement, and I barely had time to notice that how vulnerable (yet hot) it was to be naked as the day you were born while the other person remained clothed, before his mouth was on mine again, exploring the roof of my mouth, my lips, that spot on my jaw that drives me nuts-

Perry kisses with his whole mouth, his whole body, even- he kisses in a way that I’ve never felt before, never would’ve expected from him, because it’s not neat, and it’s not compartmentalized-he commits totally to it, unselfconscious; instinctive.

 My brain short circuited somewhere around that point, and the only coherent thoughts were pretty much exclusively about Perry’s mouth, lips, teeth, tongue- at some point he must’ve flipped me onto my stomach, because he was biting at my shoulder- then he pulled away, sitting back on his haunches, and looked down at me… triumphantly?  I cocked my head, confused, tried to reach for him to drag him back dow-

Oh.  Oh yeah, that would probably do it.  The triumphant expression, I mean.  See, my hands were secured firmly to his bedposts by a pair of thick black straps that he’d pulled from god knows where, and I probably could’ve gotten out of the things in, like, four and a half seconds if I’d wanted to, but my skin was already beginning to buzz with anticipation, and, frankly, I was impressed that he pulled it off, so I just whistled and threw an appreciative glance over my shoulder.  “Nice one, man.”  

Perry preened.  

“Liberace.” I mouthed, which was probably kind of cheeky, considering I was naked and tied to his bed and all.  He smirked, stripping off his own shirt and lowering himself over me, teasing, scraping his teeth right over my jugular- I arched back toward him, gasping, because the movement slid his cock against the cleft of my ass and mine against the mattress.  The thin fabric keeping me from skin to skin contact was suddenly the bane of my very existence.  Perry’s hands dragged down my sides, his fingernails leaving long red lines as he nudged my legs wider and began to plant lingering kisses along my spine.  

He slid a pillow underneath my hips, giving me one firm stroke, and I shuddered hard, a little noise drifting out of my throat as he pulled away again.  He rustled in the drawer for something, lube probably, and I was drunk on that insane mix of lust and nervous anticipation again, unbearably tense- Perry’s hands and mouth were making their way from my ankles to my thighs, too, too slow; moist, hot breath against the curve of my ass.  I groaned-

“Fucking- cock tease-”  the words were strangled, but audible, and Perry’s hands on me stilled.  

“What was that?” he asked, leaning forward, lips grazing my ear, voice deceptively light.  That steel edge from earlier, when I’d hesitated in following an order, had returned, the comment about striping my ass echoing in my head, and suddenly, I needed to know what he would do if I really got ‘impertinent’-

I twisted my head to meet his eyes, unable to resist.  “Fucking.  Cock tease.”  I repeated, enunciation precise, going for some of his patented condescension.  Surprise, vague annoyance, and something like pride flashed in his eyes for half a second, then he clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head.

“Your self preservation instincts are _terrible_ , Lockhart.  It’s like you want this-” he’d picked up my belt again, and I realized abruptly that I probably wouldn’t be able to look at it without popping a boner for the rest of my life- he dragged it across my ass, smooth and cool, and I shivered, breath coming faster, my head light- “Look at you… And I haven’t even done anything yet.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Perry’s hand had connected sharply with my ass, once- twice- thrice, and Christ it _burned_ by the third one, because he wasn’t holding back, wasn’t even pausing between strokes so I could catch my breath- I bit my lip, hard, but couldn’t quite stifle a whimper- four, five, six, all in the same place, intensifying the burn until it had distorted into a blooming rush of pain, then Perry’s hand stilled, rubbing softly across the the abused, heated flesh.  His mouth was next to my ear again, voice a low purr-

“That hurt?” he asked, and I nodded, tasting blood, “Good.”  That was all it took; I was bucking against the pillow under my hips, completely losing it, unable to breathe or even think of anything but the way the pain had dulled into licks of heat that sent jolts straight to my cock- “Perry, _please_ -” I croaked, not even sure what I was asking for, spreading my legs wider unconsciously, then he was kneeling between my legs again, biting sharply at my hip as he slipped two slick fingers into me- I moaned, long and rough, burying my face in the pillow, a deep tremor shaking my to the core as his fingers brushed that spot inside of me, and I wondered for a minute if I’d grown a second dick- and holy fuck, he was some kind of fucking pro or something, the tips of my toes beginning to tingle. 

  
I thrust harder into the pillows, trying in vain to get some friction.  I could feel it coiling at the base of my spine, already, because the mild discomfort of his fingers stretching me with each smooth thrust- and, oh god, adding a _third_ \- was melting into white-hot pleasure with each brush against that fucking spot, and, _god_ I would do anything he fucking wanted as long as he didn’t stop, and there was _no fucking way_ this man had me coming in under five minutes twice in a row.  Only he did.  I muffled another shout in the pillow, and Perry didn’t seem to much like that- he grabbed my hair with his other hand, forcing my head back.  “Let me fucking hear you, Harry-” his voice was rough and brutal, wholly merciless, fingers twisting inside me, and I _keened_ , completely nonverbal, muscles beginning to spasm, jerking against the man behind me, coming, everything going white behind my eyes-

I lay there.  Breathing.  My head felt like it was full of cotton and I was weak as a day old kitten, and I couldn’t even muster up the energy to care.

“ _Goddamn_.  Fuckhead, you shouldn’t have been wasting your time with women all these years.  Shit.” Perry’s voice warbled behind me and I heard it as though underwater.  I blinked a few times, trying to work out a) what he’d just said, and, b) what the fuck it meant.  I wiggled out of the restraints without thinking about it and turned over, flopping on my back and looking up at him curiously.  He rolled his eyes at my Houdini impression, but they were still dilated with lust, his cheeks still deeply flushed (and that flush ran all the way down past his navel, which was incredibly hot.  Much like the dark blonde hair disappearing down past his waistband, proving that his hair color is, indeed, natural) and those clever, clever lips remained swollen and moist.

“What’chu mean?” I pulled him down beside me and wrapped myself around him like an octopus.

“You just fucking came without either of us touching your dick.” he said, sounding awed.  “You’re a goddamn unicorn.”

I snorted, eyes fluttering closed.  “ ‘S weird, never happened before.”

Perry’s lips parted, nostrils flaring like he was doing his best not to attack me or something.

“Let’s see if we can make it happen again.”

I tried to protest, but he was halfway on top of me, pinning me down with the weight of him, fingers slipping into me again, and it was too much sensation this soon after an orgasm, but he didn’t heed my weak pleading and slowly began to work me up- I grabbed at Perry’s wrist, trying to force it to slow, to give me a little time to recover, but he just smiled against my neck, teeth marking me with a quickness.  

“No- Per- I _cant-_ ” I groaned hoarsely, barely able to grind out the words, overwhelmed by the fact that my nerve endings seemed to be on fire- he slipped in a third finger, speeding the movement, and I couldn’t do anything but fight for breath.

“Every time you say no, I’m just going to go faster, make you come harder.” he informed me in a resonant snarl, hand brushing over the hypersensitive head of my cock, and I swear to god, I blacked the fuck out as my skull flew apart.  

When I became aware again, it was to the sensation of Perry’s tongue.  

“…Perry?” I croaked, squinting up at him, “I don’t think I can feel my dick.”

He grinned, unrepentant, raising his chin to rest it on my chest, still laying between my legs.  My hip flexors were going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow.  Then he sat up, pushed down his pajama pants, and rolled a condom over his cock, languid, relishing the sensation.  I pushed myself up on my elbows, tongue darting out to moisten my lips, unable to tear my eyes away as he slicked lube over himself- god, he was so hard, his dick curving up toward his navel and nearly touching it. I’d been right- there was no way it would fit.  I suddenly realized why he’d coaxed enough orgasms out of me to leave me boneless and relaxed- he slid off the bed and tugged me to the edge of the mattress, hooking my legs around his waist, the wide, blunt head of his cock pressing at my ass.  “You ready?” he murmured roughly, doing his level best to keep himself from pushing in and fucking me through the mattress.  I just nodded, mute, too transfixed by the sight of him to come up with any words, because he was pushing into me, slow and steady- three fingers couldn’t possibly fucking compare to this feeling of being stretched and full- I whined as he struck my prostate again, my own dick beginning to fill, and there was no way I could possibly come again, but it didn’t even matter, because Perry was fucking me, eyes closed, light playing off of his skin, and the man was fucking gorgeous-

I watched his face as he came, his mouth dropping open in a raw, unrestrained moan, his hands tight on my hips, his thrusts stuttering erratically as he totally lost control, face screwed up in an exquisite sort of ecstasy before he collapsed onto my chest.  His breath panted against my neck.  

When he finally pulled out of me, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash, a wash of physical emptiness crested over me.  I wondered vaguely if this was how women felt after sex, but the thought was unformed and out of my head before I had time to consider it too much.  I curled myself around Perry again, and he chuckled, tipping my chin up to kiss me softly.  His sleepy, satiated smile was the last thing I saw before I fell asleep.


End file.
